Drunk On You
by foggybythebay
Summary: There had been some butterbeer and some banter, but what for the life of him, Draco couldn't remember what happened between that and finding himself beneath one Hermione Granger who was screaming out his name.


_Merlin's balls, how had he come to be here?_

With eyes shut, Draco knew instinctively that he was lying beneath one Hermione Granger— bookworm extraordinaire, Head Girl to his Head Boy, Mud—

_No,_ his brain balked, _he was not supposed think of her that way any longer._

She was shouting something... _loudly._

His haze-filled mind tried desperately to process why this particular witch was sitting astride his lower half. But everything was muddled and feeling their vital parts in such close proximity was giving Draco heart palpitations.

He vaguely recalled doing some strange things, like, saluting Granger's monstrosity of a cat with his last swig of some noxious drink.

There had been butterbeer...

and feminine laughter... _from an unlikely source._

With some reluctance, he remembered a strange feeling in the center of his chest.

"Draco?"

_Merlin, she was still atop him, shrieking his... his actual name— not Ferret, not Malfoy, or cockroach— his actual bloody first name._

Grappling with lucidity, Malfoy vigorously shook his head, trying to clear it. He moaned. This seemed to make the witch halt her frantic behavior.

"Well, thank gods, you're alive," she exhaled softly, her breath whispering over his cheek. Then, as if exhausted, she'd dropped her head to his chest.

His _bare_ chest.

_What the bloody hell was going on?_

Without the distraction of her yelling, Draco was able, with much effort, to focus on urging his mind to put the events of the evening into proper sequence.

It had started with him entering the Heads common room after a particularly grueling quidditch practice to find an inebriated house-elf arranging a pitcher of butterbeer and two mugs on a nearby table. The house-elf… _Winky_… He thinks _that's_ what Granger had called it… had been flustered by his sudden appearance and had quickly apparated away.

Though flummoxed by the creature's odd behavior, Draco had been instantly attracted to the warm brew. Without a second thought to his muddied, sweaty, wind-blown self, he settled into a nearby chair and poured himself a drink.

Shortly thereafter, Granger had stumbled in from her bedroom. She stared at him speculatively. He remembered this because when he noticed how her bushy mane framed her face, there had been an otherworldly glow at the edges of the vision she presented, standing there, staring at him with her big brown eyes.

"Like what you see?" he inquired, not as petulantly as he'd hoped. Draco's head buzzed strangely. He felt light, warm.

The two hadn't spoken more than a few words to one another since being appointed Heads, so it was surprising Granger hadn't yet scuttled away, as was her usual habit.

"Yes, actually, I do," she said, as though commenting on the weather.

He'd choked on his butterbeer, then. She'd laughed so lustily, so unexpectedly, that his eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Shifting his hips, now, he knew the sultry sound had caused other parts of him to swell as well.

"No ready comeback, Malfoy?" she sighed, plopping into the chair across him, looking suspiciously at the butterbeer. "Seems you've already had some."

He nodded, lifting his glass.

"I had some, too, earlier," she said, staring at the pitcher. "It tasted different, a lot like watered-down tequila."

"What's tequila?"

"Want to try some?"

He shrugged.

"It's Muggle. A friend of mine gave me a bottle," she sighed wistfully. "What a summer."

"You're not like other girls, Granger," he said, horrified he was running at the mouth. For Merlin's sake, the thought had just formed in his head! "You're not much to look at... but there's something intriguing about you."

"And you're prickly, Malfoy," she smiled, watching him fidget. "All dark and brooding. It could cause a curious girl to wonder..."

She then filled his glass with what remained in the pitcher. Staring at the empty vessel, she announced, "I'll get that tequila. Don't go anywhere." When she returned, she handed him the bottle.

_El Tesoro Platinum_

"I didn't open it," she whispered as though conveying a secret. At his look, she pointed at the bottle, "it reminded me too much of you."

"How so?"

"It's a Highland Blanco," she said, "My friend, he..."

"_He_?" Draco frowned.

"Yes, Malfoy, _he_, said the taste of it is sharp, lively and intense. The description conjured up thoughts of... _you_."

"Thought of me during your summer, did you?" he asked, pleased.

"Yes," she admitted. "Did you think of me?"

"Yes," he said, even as he shook his head no.

"Pleasant thoughts?"

He registered her inquiry. _Had they been?_ He frowned and said, "They were uncomfortable, at best."

She nodded, "Me, too."

"Malfoy, I think the butterbeer's spiked."

"Veritaserum?" He gaped at her, aghast. "Shall we hide out in our respective rooms until it wears off?" he suggested gallantly, though his reasons for wanting this were quite cowardly.

"I think it would be best, but I also want to drink that tequila with you," she grinned. He couldn't help but match her smile with one of his own. She was staring again. After two heartbeats, she seemed to recover. "Now I know why you don't smile much, Malfoy," she said quite breathlessly.

"Why is that, Granger?"

"You've a lethal weapon there," she smiled shyly. "You'd have girls swooning and fainting everywhere."

He laughed, then, amused by her admission, oddly touched by her honesty, even though he knew it was magically induced. Draco hadn't noticed that in his joviality that she'd opened the tequila and poured some into his glass. When he'd at last torn his eyes away, he noticed her cat, the intrepid creature had found its way onto the arm of his chair.

"And, you, Granger? Why, the treasure of you is quite a well-kept secret. Isn't that so, cat?" Draco asked, raising a brow and tipping his glass to Crookshanks, who glared right back.

Feeling quite abashed by the truth that tripped off his lips, Malfoy hid his embarrassment by knocking down the tequila. Hermione shouted her warning as alcohol more fiery than Ogden's Best ripped its way down his throat.

"Buggering hell, Granger," he'd at last spluttered and gasped, "Way to warn a bloke." With little thought, he yanked off his uniform top in an effort to fight off the clawing, choking feeling of this foreign Muggle brew. With some satisfaction, he noted her appraising examination of his well-muscled torso. To conceal her interest, she'd snorted loudly at his obvious discomfort. It wasn't at all a girly or feminine snort and in his drunken state, Draco thought it was one of the most hilarious sounds he'd ever heard.

"Stop laughing at me, Malfoy," she managed bashfully, pushing her own mug away, attempting to look stern.

"Make me, Granger," he chucked the dare at her, smirking as he made a playful come hither movement with both hands.

"You're still laughing," she accused, unable to avert her eyes from his bare chest.

"You're too easy to tease, love, did you know that?" She bristled at the endearment, watching his fingers as they deliberately traced the contours of his pectorals.

Hermione stood, then, taking a step toward him.

"Don't call me that if you don't mean it, _love_. I'm sick and tired of your mouth," she snapped, "and that's the damn truth, Ferret-boy."

"Name-calling now, Granger? And I thought you were a Gryffindor," he chuckled, quite tipsy now. "You going to come shut me up, then, darling?"

"I don't like that one either, Malfoy," she reprimanded, confidently striding up to his arrogant self. "But I'm pretty sure I can make you shut up, for once."

They both watch her hand reach out toward his chest.

"Is that so, _Hermione_?" he breathed, his head swimming with booze and the sudden nearness of her.

She stopped just short of touching him. "Dirty trick, that, Malfoy," she retorted quietly, eyes dilating, "trying to distract me. _That one works, by the way_."

"_Hermione_."

"Stop it."

"Make me, _Hermione_."

She rushed at him, then, diving her fingers into his hair. Her lips immediately latched onto his. Her added weight had him falling backwards and his head hit the corner of the table. Immediately, he saw stars. He felt her arms and legs wrapped around him. She gently cradled his jaw when his eyelids drifted shut.

"Draco? Draco?" she cried frantically. "Draco?"

After a minute, he moaned.

"Well, thank gods, you're alive," she sighed, dropping her head to his chest.

Satisfied with his fuzzy version of recent happenings, Draco drags himself back to the present.

His eyes open to the sight of her worried brown eyes. His lips quirk.

"You're right, Granger, you really do know how to shut me up," he says, his voice slurred. "That was some kiss. Too bad we're drunk and will regret this in the morning."

"I'm _not_ drunk, Draco." His silver eyes widen as her lips brush against his, adding "And, _darling_, I'm _not_ going to regret _any_ of this in the morning."

* * *

**_Originally written for lvj's dramione drabbles' Deathly Hallow's Challenge, Sixth-picture prompt: butterbeer._**

If you want to see the other five drabbles for this challenge series, see my profile for my livejournal link. Happy Reading! And yes, I am working on both my WIPs... I just needed a brain break.

Happy Reading!

~foggybythebay


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